Retrograde
by Libek
Summary: At the end of R1, on a whim, Lelouch receives a very different punishment for his actions. Now everyone must deal with the consequences. Themes of "white" slavery, and yes, he does now technically belong to Suzaku. UPDATE: Chapter 3 is now up!
1. Phase 1, First Degree

A/N: Set at the end of R1, hopping an alternate timeline inspired by a kink meme prompt that will hopefully be totally answered as the 'fic progresses. I've gotten pretty prolific with kink meme prompts before, but this time I just genuinely liked the AU that was taking shape, so here we are.

Enormous spoilers for the last episode of R1 and the second episode of R2, at the very least. Events from later in R2 will probably also come into play later. And the rating is for content in the next two chapters, not for content in this one. Sorry to disappoint you. :(  


* * *

**.phase 1.  
First Degree  
**

  


In the back of his mind, Suzaku knew he had been waiting for this moment with bated breath.

The great and mighty Zero (Lelouch) (no, Princess Euphemia's murderer) trembled beneath the hand in his soft dark hair. Stiffened, as the Emperor began to explain his intentions. Struggled and shouted impotently when Suzaku held that cursed eye shut, eyelid fluttering against his thumb pad like a bird flapping wings in desperation because it knew they were about to be clipped.

Even at his most frantic, he was only marginally difficult to hold in place, his Britannian straitjacket hardly necessary. Still so physically weak. And slowly being paralyzed by growing horror as he realized, as it sunk in, what was about to happen to him. What he was about to lose.

Suzaku could almost taste the fear, and he wet his lips. _Yes,_ he found himself thinking eagerly. _Feel it. Feel the violation. Know how easily he can undo everything you are, everything you have. Everything you've worked for. Know it, you bastard. Feel it as it crushes you._

Because it would. The utter loss of control, for a man who kept himself so carefully in check, who prided himself on controlling _others_, was the ultimate punishment. Stealing even his revenge from him, and leaving nothing but the petty concerns of an ordinary child? It would destroy him, in these last few seconds, before he forgot everything -- although deep down Suzaku hoped he wouldn't forget _everything_, that at least some part of Zero, the brilliant terrorist, would remain. Trapped in the darkest recesses of an insipid Britannian schoolboy, forced to watch as he thanked God every day for his fortune at being born an ordinary civilian citizen of the Greatest Nation on Earth.

His hunger for it was sickening.

(he had never been worthy of her; a man who would enjoy a moment like this could never have been worthy of her) (no, this is right, this is just, _this is what he did to her_, why even as she lay there, weak with pain, _dying_, she had to fight against his cruel command -- meanwhile, this bastard was probably _laughing_ at her) (Lelouch)

The Emperor paused, and looked up at him. Suzaku froze, was briefly dizzy. _No, I can't wait any longer, do it, do it now--_

"Yes, Your Majesty?" he forced out in a voice that hardly sounded like his own. Distantly, he realized that his hands were numb, bloodless, could easily have shaken, could easily have shifted just enough, and then his thumb would go too deep, puncture the eye he was holding shut. Distantly, he realized how badly he wanted to let that happen. Wouldn't they all have been better off...?

But the Emperor was staring at him, coldly thoughtful, and that made Suzaku hold himself perfectly still. Did he look too involved? Would he be sent away, on some foolish concern that he might be too attached to this, the man who had once been his friend, to be expected to watch? God, he didn't think he would be able to bear it. Suddenly the idea of the wanted terrorist Zero living far from here, peaceful and mundane and ignorant, seemed much too kind. He needed this first, the naked fear, the helpless trembling.

"And yet, I wonder," the Emperor murmured. "Is this the most suitable punishment, for the crimes committed?"

Suzaku sucked in a breath and averted his eyes. He felt Lelouch's body stiffen, the eye beneath his moving rapidly with thoughts he knew they shared.

If not this, then what? What would the Emperor consider more "suitable" for the son who had attempted to kill him and bring down his empire? Surely not a simple execution?

"Tell me," the Emperor continued, now looking at Zero instead, watching him with a predator's eyes. "How did it feel, Zero, to be betrayed by someone you had considered a friend? Perhaps even family? Was that not almost worse than knowing _I_ had finally beaten you?"

A tight, choked sound. Suzaku wondered dully which of them had made it.

Then the Emperor smiled a very ugly smile, and he thought perhaps they both had. "Yes," he said softly. "You don't take kindly to betrayal. I remember. But I would have thought, by now, you might have grown accustomed to the sting. Or perhaps..." His tone turned whimsical. "Perhaps it's the particular person? This boy whose betrayal you somehow failed to expect and cannot bear? How interesting that would be."

Suzaku glanced down, but could not quite see the expression of the man held prone against him. All he had was the heartbeat he could feel through Lelouch's (Zero's) eyelid, thready and rapid and panicked. Suzaku could all but hear him thinking: however clearly he denied it now, his initial hesitation had ruined whatever chance he'd had of convincing his father, whose smile only widened now.

"Ah, my treacherous son. I must confess, I have lost too many children already in this war of yours." The words had an airy, practiced, insincere sound to them. As though he were speaking for an audience, instead of to his family. "It's made me sentimental. I would much rather have you somewhere nearby, with someone I trusted. So this all works out for the best, doesn't it?"

"What are you--" Lelouch blurted, but then the Emperor had grasped his chin, his eye, and was saying carelessly, "Of course, you're still too dangerous to leave completely intact."

His eyes lit, the power of his geass, and as it seared through him Lelouch screamed with such agony. Suzaku had intended to savor this moment, to memorize that sound with all his senses so that he would be able to replay it again later whenever he wanted, but it was over too quickly and he didn't have the chance. After only a few seconds, the dark-haired boy collapsed, consciousness gone from pain or worse. It might have been disappointing, but Suzaku knew the sound of that scream would stay with him for months.

At length he asked, licking his lips again for a different reason, "What did you..."

The Emperor blinked, the light in his eyes going dark, and lifted his head. "Is that a fitting tone for a Knight of the Rounds to address his emperor, I wonder?"

Suzaku bit his tongue and hastily ducked his head, apologizing. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I forgot myself in the heat of the moment."

"So you did," the Emperor agreed, apparently mollified, if he had ever truly been offended. He climbed to his feet, then; no easy feat for a man of his age. "I have given him only a small handful of false memories. In his mind, he has undergone an operation which does not exist. Through it, his geass has been removed. He has since spent two weeks in a cold cell, and in those weeks he attempted futilely to use his geass on soldiers and maids alike, each time being mocked for his failure. Occasionally, even beaten." The Emperor blinked, but otherwise remained expressionless. Was he imagining the pain? "He has given up, for the time being. In a month or two, the geass will fade from that eye and become as dormant as he thinks it is."

To hear him speak so casually and authoritatively about the features of geass left an unpleasant taste in Suzaku's mouth but he averted his eyes appropriately when he said, "Your Majesty, I don't..." He wasn't sure how to say it. There didn't seem to be a respectful way to voice his concern.

"You don't see why I'm doing this, instead of making him forget he has such a power? You think that would be less dangerous?" The Emperor gazed at him, at the arms that he had unconsciously tightened around Zero's body when the other boy went slack, and laughed. "To be perfectly honest, Kururugi, I thought it might spoil some of your enjoyment."

Suzaku opened his mouth, closed it again, and repeated numbly, "My... enjoyment?"

"Your enjoyment of his suffering," the Emperor agreed, cool and casual. As though there were nothing perverse about it. "The satisfaction you took in seeing him so lowered, the _pleasure_ you felt at the mere thought of him being stripped of his power and his clever games -- being reduced to an ignorant child who would live out his life in shallow contentment, mindlessly loyal to the Empire he so despised. You were looking forward to it, weren't you?"

Some dark, terrible part of him shivered. Suzaku dipped his head in wordless acknowledgment, because despite that part (or maybe because of it), he thought he might vomit if he attempted to speak.

The Emperor waited for a few seconds, then smiled again. "I had thought there was no better punishment for such a troublesome, deceitful child. But seeing how much pain it caused him just to be in your presence and feel the _truth_ of your treachery..." He chuckled darkly. "Consider it a gift, Major Kururugi. One last, small reward for your services. My only request is that you keep him alive. In all other respects, you may do with him whatever you wish. My son -- no, I should say: my former son -- now belongs to you."

*

Everything happened very quickly after that.

A teleconference had already been scheduled to announce the death of Britannia's most notorious terrorist, and it was a simple matter to explain that his body had been unexpectedly recovered from the skirmish. The only difference for the reporters now was that the terrorist could be unmasked on international television and tried for his crimes against the crown.

Given what he knew had been the original plan, Suzaku was stunned to hear how much of the truth was now being exposed: that the diabolical genius who had given Britannia so much trouble was in fact an ordinary Britannian high school student, Lelouch Lamperouge. Or, worse yet, that the ordinary student had once been Lelouch vi Britannia, a long-lost heir to the throne, who had used Area 11 against his own father in a strategic bid for power. Things that he had thought too embarrassing for the Empire to confess were being admitted freely.

But when the moment came for him to walk out onstage with his prisoner, the glorious leader of the Elevens now bound and gagged and obviously, visibly at his mercy, Suzaku immediately saw the reason for the Empire's acknowledgments.

It might have been embarrassing for them to have come so close to ruin at the hands of a child, but it was far worse for "Zero" to have been just another selfish royal brat, the hero of so many revealed to be not Robin Hood after all but Prince John in a clever disguise. And even still groggy from the geass, from his memories of imprisonment, Lelouch had gone snow-white at the announcement. He knew what it would do to his former power base.

Again, Suzaku felt ugly pleasure. _That's right, Lelouch. They don't even have to lie about you, do they? And you'll still lose so much._

His straitjacket had been exchanged for an older form of bondage that would let the audience at home see Zero in his full regalia, and a length of chain that would have made for a convenient leash now ran from the thick iron collar around his neck to the manacles that held his wrists together behind his back. Suzaku ignored it to take hold of his former friend's hair anyway, and when Lelouch turned to look back at him, unguarded for an instant, _hopeful_ for an instant, searching his eyes for any trace of mercy, he knew the Emperor had been right.

Spending the rest of this miserable life in his presence would be more horrible than any other form of torture under the sun.

"Don't worry," he found himself saying flatly, so that the hope flickered, burning brighter for a few fragile seconds. "This is nothing, compared to what's about to come."

The hope died, and immediately Zero changed gears, Lelouch's vulnerability turning to rage and indignation. His left eye lit and he started to try and speak around the gag, but then memories real and false settled on him like a weight and he closed both eyes. Briefly defeated.

Defeat that would become much less brief, in a week. In a month. In a year.

Still, he would have been dangerous in different company. As Suzaku had expected, the instinct to use his geass had overridden everything, both the supposed "operation" he thought he'd had and the limitations he knew existed. As that boy had explained, and he'd had no reason to doubt, Lelouch's geass only worked once on any one person. So he must have known that Suzaku would be immune to any further commands he might have given.

(as if he could have commanded any worse from him)

Something hot twisted in his belly, and Suzaku stepped forward then, dragging Lelouch by his hair out to meet his father, ignoring suffocated sounds of pain to deposit him at the Emperor's feet, in front of the cameras. In front of the family he had left behind.

In front of the world.

The ceremony was brief but dramatic: the Emperor named him as the son of Marianne vi Britannia, read a prepared list of his crimes for the record, and then summarily stripped him of his title, the holdings that might still have been his, and pronounced his sentence. Suzaku would have given anything to see the expression on the bastard's face, but he could not.

Indentured servitude had a long, proud tradition in the Empire. And wasn't it fitting, somehow, that the man who had called himself Zero, who had achieved everything over the last few months by subjugating other people, would now spend the rest of his life in the service of the Empire he had fought to overthrow, a slave?

"All men are not created equal," the Emperor continued grandly, with a sweeping gesture. "Some make use of the tools they are given in life -- they cultivate their talents, they move through their lives with focus, and even obstacles are treated as opportunities they can use. Others squander their birthrights, throwing all but their very lives away. Those people do not deserve their privileged place in life, and inevitably it will slip away from them. Nature has erred, and nature corrects. Is there no better proof of this than the difference between what Suzaku Kururugi, the newest Knight of the Rounds, has made of his life... and what my foolish son has made of his?"

Another man might have felt it necessary to _look_ at his son. The Emperor only paused, staring fixedly into the camera, for his audience to absorb this wisdom.

"Ordinarily," he went on at last, "such a prominent slave would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. But a kill in nature belongs to the successful predator, and does it not seem especially fitting, in this case, that Major Suzaku Kururugi -- the epitome of what even an Eleven can accomplish and one of so many directly harmed by Zero's actions -- should be the one to take from him his undeserved privileges?"

Suzaku felt the jerk against the grip he had on soft dark hair, the reaction he hadn't given before, and smiled. It was probably no more pleasant than the Emperor's had been. _Yes,_ he thought. _Just like that._ Again, belonging to him was apparently so much worse than belonging to a stranger.

The Emperor gestured at him and said, "Now, remove those clothes. They were the clothes of a traitor. As a slave, he won't be needing them... or any others, for that matter."

Suzaku drew his sword, turned on the ball of his heel, and was finally able to see Lelouch's expression as he lifted him to his feet. So much shock, so much horror, so much _anger_. And now he began to struggle in earnest, probably chafing his wrists with the effort, but all he managed to do was rattle that length of chain. Still bound, still gagged, still convinced that his geass could not help him, it wasn't difficult to hold him down.

To cut through Zero's extravagant costume, to slice away Lelouch's simpler underwear, to expose him inch by inch until he was naked and then to release his hair, letting him fall to the floor.

It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, couldn't possibly have required any real exertion, yet Suzaku found that he was breathing shallowly.

In his head, he went over all of the valid psychological reasons to keep a slave naked. There were plenty, and reciting them silently helped him to rationalize the sight of so much flawless bare skin, helped to distract him from things that were less easily rationalized.

(the way he was staring) (the flush he could feel creeping up his own neck) (his suddenly dry mouth)

More enjoyment of Lelouch's suffering? Was he that terrible a person?

"Much more appropriate," the Emperor said airily. "Take him away, Knight of Seven. I'm sure you can think of an appropriate activity for him to engage in. Laundry, perhaps?"

Suzaku reached down to collect his new property, this time taking the chain -- the _leash_ -- firmly in hand. He brought his heels together, his right hand over his heart, and bowed deeply. He focused on breathing evenly. And still he found himself thinking, _No. Not laundry. Nothing like laundry, in fact._

(worse, he was so much worse) (but Lelouch deserved it)

The rest of the audience chamber blurred together in bright colors and soft noise as he left it. Suzaku knew they were here, that they had been watching everything -- Princess Cornelia, Prince Odysseus, Princess Guinevere, Prince Schneizel, others -- but although he could feel their eyes on him, he could not make out any of their faces or voices in the din.


	2. Phase 1, Second Degree

**.phase 1.  
Second Degree**

Suzaku had never had much in the way of living space: his father had not been one for extravagant palaces, believing that a humble home made for a humble heart, and his room had been small even before the arrival of two Britannian royals had forced him into even tighter quarters. The transition after his father's death (after his father's murder) to a single cramped room in the military dormitories with two bunk beds and three roommates had been easy enough; Suzaku had only needed to accustom himself to the constant sound of other people breathing, other people snoring; the occasional green recruit assigned to his room who spent entire nights crying from stress and fear.

He had never expected anything more for himself. Certainly he'd never _wanted_ more. He and his father (his dead father) (the father he'd murdered) had agreed on very little, but this one belief they shared: that all a man needed was space enough to curl up on his side, warmth enough to get him through a cold night, food enough to keep hunger at bay. That anything more would only be distracting. The lavish trappings of his new position were unfortunate and unavoidable, part and parcel of this latest step he had taken towards becoming the Knight of One, but nothing he had ever looked forward to.

So he had told himself many times.

Yet, when he opened the large double doors that led into what were now his personal chambers, Suzaku could not deny the palpable sense of relief he felt. There were no bunk beds; there was more than one room; the walls were papered and adorned with beautiful paintings; he had actual windows, with actual velvet curtains, drawn shut now against the coming night; and furniture: sofas, armchairs, _end tables_ in this one room alone. And most of all, everything belonged to him. No roommates, because every Knight of Rounds had his or her very own chambers and would not need to share with him.

It was beautiful. It was excessive, unnecessary, and thoroughly distracting. That he was standing in the doorway, staring at it, _devouring it with his eyes like a starving man_, was personally disappointing. Twenty-four hours ago, Suzaku might have been disgusted with himself for even noticing. But he had so many other, better things to be disgusted with himself for right now.

Behind him, Zero (her murderer) (Lelouch) was panting wetly around his gag. The long walk from the Emperor's audience chamber had no doubt exhausted him, and in more than just the usual way.

It had been -- a very public trip through the palace halls. At almost every turn they had taken, another shocked maid or startled palace guard had been there to greet them, each one doing his or her best to stare without staring at the newly-knighted Eleven and his prisoner. More than once, Lelouch had faltered under the weight of their eyes, struggling with his inability to shield even an inch of his naked body from their curiosity. More than once, Suzaku had twisted his "leash" to keep him moving, ignoring his muffled protests but wondering each and every time whether the dark-haired boy recognized any of these people: whether they recognized him, as the child they had once served.

_He is who you think he is,_ he'd almost said, more than once.

But it didn't matter anymore.

(nothing mattered anymore, not to him) (thanks to _him_)

The only relevant thing was the present, where he had closed the door and they were alone -- alone despite the dozen tall candles and the brightly-polished metal and the lingering scent of freshly-varnished wood that meant servants must have only just finished preparing this room. Alone except for, in spite of, one another.

And in the present, Suzaku found that he was very aware of the silence, the raw sound of Lelouch's breathing that kept breaking it. Much too aware of his own clothes, the familiar skintight flightsuit and the less familiar air on the back of his neck where, for some reason, he had started to sweat. Suzaku unfastened his collar, taking a gulp of air to steady himself.

"You might as well sit down," he said at length, his voice thick. He didn't turn around. He wasn't sure what he would... do, if he did.

More silence in reply. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Of course Lelouch wasn't going to do as he was told. However exhausted, however much he probably _wanted_ to sit down, Lelouch had always been so damned stubborn. Even when they were kids together (stop it) (don't think it) (don't be _nostalgic_ about _him_)--

The silence broke, mercifully giving him something else to think about, but not with the soft shuffling of tired footsteps. Instead, it sounded like Lelouch was making another futile attempt to speak, one that soon descended into a cough, and then a fit, and then -- what was unmistakably the sound of the man choking on his own spit. He couldn't even be trusted to _breathe_ right.

Agitated for so many reasons, Suzaku spun around to face him and tore the gag from his mouth, fast enough that Lelouch couldn't flinch away from his hand but still controlled, still careful, so that it wouldn't hurt. Because (yes) (think this) when it did hurt, he wanted it to hurt for a reason. He wanted it to be on purpose.

"S - Suzaku..." The name spilled out, slurred and breathy. It was, and wasn't, Zero's voice. Lelouch twisted to wipe his moist lips on his own shoulder and then the fine lines of his face settled into a disgusted expression at the necessity. "God, this is unbearable. At least fetch me a handkerchief."

Suzaku raised his eyebrows but said nothing, letting this silence stretch between them. The gag couldn't have been very comfortable. A simple electroshock collar would have been better for him, but riskier for their intended audience. Best to keep him muzzled so that he couldn't forget the pain, the way he had forgotten the geass, and try to speak. The spectacle of him attempting it and being shocked repeatedly might have even made him look _brave_.

And brave was the last thing he had ever been.

Lelouch was watching him closely, probably trying to read him. "So that's how it is," he said after a moment, looking away. The line of his shoulders went rigid, straight and proud. He seemed to be rallying; bracing himself against what he thought was coming next. He even lifted his chin. "Fine, then. Get it over with."

It was, Suzaku realized with some disbelief, an _order_.

(coward) (Princess Euphemia's murderer) (the man who had not been satisfied with simply assassinating her: the man who had wanted to kill her dreams, too, to destroy her utterly in the eyes of her people) (filthy coward)

Even in chains: even naked. Even thinly disguised as resignation. Who did he think he was? _Where_ did he think he was, that he could still be giving orders? On some level, it was almost sort of -- funny.

"Get what over with?" Suzaku asked, quiet. "What is it, exactly, that you think I'm going to do to you?"

What one thing did he think would possibly have been enough to repay him for all of the things Zero had done?

He took a step forward, beginning to close the distance between them, and Lelouch held his ground, eyes cinching shut, the set of his mouth pale and pinched. Waiting to be struck. Waiting to be beaten, waiting to be broken. As though he knew he deserved it.

(and he did, he deserved so much more) (but why) (why did he seem to _know_ it)

For a heartbeat, Suzaku hesitated, uncertain.

Then Zero said, without opening his eyes, "I was hoping you'd be forced to kill her," and everything inside him went cold. "I was hoping she'd stay alive in the hospital room just long enough. Under my command, you know, she would have strangled you with her bare hands if she'd had to... And, because of me, you would have had to stop her. By any means necessary."

His shoulders were shaking, and it took Suzaku a fraction of a second to process that, to understand that his former friend was _actually laughing_ at him, at the thought of Princess Euphemia with her hands wrapped around his neck, at the thought of what he

would have had

to do to her to make her stop.

Suzaku didn't remember moving, but he knew he must have, because suddenly he had Lelouch up against the wall, the other boy hissing from far too little pain. He would have bruises there tomorrow, from where the chain had lodged in his back, because his skin was white as snow, the mark of the nobleman he no longer was, and from their childhood Suzaku knew (didn't want to know) that it was delicate. It would show every mark, every flush of sickly purplebrown. God, it would have been easy to beat him until he lost consciousness. Easy to beat him until he died.

"You bastard," someone whispered. It must have been him, but it was so hoarse, so choked, that it sounded nothing like him. "How could you do that to her?!"

Zero (because it wasn't) (but damn them both, it still was) (Lelouch) smiled at him. "Easily," he said, light and soft. "Very, very easily. I only had to say the words. 'Kill all the Japanese,' I told her, and she did it, with a smile on her face and a _song_ in her _heart_. Poor, sweet Euphy--"

"_Don't you dare say that name!_"

Never in his life had he been so furious. He couldn't breathe, could hardly see, and his hands were white-knuckled on Lelouch's (Zero's) shoulders. The world had become a hot, hazy place and everything seemed to be happening too slowly to stop any of it. Suzaku found himself again very conscious of small things: of every inch on his body where Lelouch was touching him, bare skin searing through his clothes to warm the flesh beneath; of Lelouch's chest heaving against his own in fear or excitement or both; of the darker specks of purple in Lelouch's violet eyes; of the fine thin hairs on the back of his own neck that were now literally standing on end.

Finally, in a small thin voice, Lelouch said: "You don't seriously -- expect me to obey you."

His lips were so pale, but they also looked slightly swollen. Suzaku wondered distantly whether they had ever been kissed. Would Lelouch have told him, even when they'd been the best of friends?

(if they had ever been the best of friends)

"I do expect it," he murmured. For the life of him, he couldn't make his voice any louder. "I own you now."

The words landed like a blow, but Zero was quick enough to counter. "I have never recognized that man, Suzaku. Not as my father, and certainly not as my lord. Ha! I renounced my title when I was ten, so he can have it, but I am not _his_ to sell." It was, Suzaku knew dimly, an appeal to his better nature. "I am a human being, and he has no right--"

Unfortunately for him, Suzaku had very little of that left. "No," he interrupted, smooth and certain again. The white-hot anger of a moment ago had cooled to a numb indifference. "You're not. You _were_ a monster, worse than an animal. But now, you're nothing."

No longer a noble, no longer a citizen. Not even as low as a Number now. What a fitting pseudonym he had chosen for himself. Because _zero_ was exactly what he had become.

The mask cracked, ever so slightly, and Suzaku saw the seed of something new in wide, violet eyes. Lelouch squirmed against the grip on his shoulders, but of course it made no difference. "Suzaku..."

"Do you know what His Majesty told me to do to you?" Suzaku asked him, eyes drifting again to the dark-haired boy's mouth. "Do you know what his _exact_ instructions were?"

As he watched, the seed blossomed. It was... fear. Real, human fear. And he was a monster, too, because the sight of it was very nearly intoxicating. He wet his lips, bent his head to Lelouch's ear, and whispered:

"Just to keep you alive. Other than that, I can do whatever I want."

They were close enough that he could feel the shiver, but Lelouch turned his head aside and hardly sounded flushed at all when he murmured, "And what is it that you want, Suzaku?"

(to be innocent children again, far from all of this) (to have her back) (to look in his eyes and see nothing but Zero)

Slowly, so slowly, Suzaku drew his head back. "To start," he replied coolly, "I think I'd like you to stop calling me by my given name, as though you still think you can pretend we're friends."

(to hurt him)

It cut deep, even though they both knew it shouldn't have, and he could almost taste the blood in his mouth as Lelouch shut his own with an audible _click_. There was pain in his expression, and that Suzaku had expected, but there was also something else, something like... stunned disbelief. Mere moments ago he had been disowned and stripped naked on international television, sold into _slavery_ by his own father, and lost everything he had been working toward for months if not years. But this one simple thing that he should have expected still had the power to undo him so thoroughly that he couldn't even seem to find the words Zero would have said.

Which was an illusion, a dangerous illusion that wouldn't last, because as soon as he let his guard down Suzaku knew that all of it -- the fear and the pain and the disbelief and the brief humanity -- would vanish. And then Zero would be very much present in Lelouch's sneer, his hard violet eyes. Mocking him for this hesitation, this hateful weakness where he had come so close to wishing he hadn't said anything; where he had come so close to thinking this man (this monster) (her murderer) (his best friend) might actually have feelings to hurt.

He could see the words, could practically taste them, by the time Lelouch turned his head. Their noses almost bumped and their lips were not quite touching as he whispered it: "Aren't you the one who kept insisting we were?"

There wasn't enough space between them. Suzaku could feel the other boy's breath on his cheek, a hot heady breeze that broke over his mouth and made his stomach clench. "My... mistake," he thought he'd said, but the rush of blood in his own ears was so loud that he could hardly hear it. Lelouch's scent was everywhere, all over him, and he couldn't control his breathing when every shallow gasp of air tasted like sweat-slicked skin.

Silence. Lelouch was staring at him with eyes absolutely still and lips slightly parted, breathing through his mouth. For once, he wasn't thinking rapidly. Maybe he wasn't thinking at all.

(no) (no no no) (stop it) (step away from him) (don't)

There was so little space between them. He only had to shift forward that fraction of an inch, and it seemed to take forever. He had all the time in the world to watch Lelouch's pupils constrict before he brought their mouths together, crushing those pale lips to his own and shoving past them with his tongue in something too painful, too hungry, to be a kiss.

Oh, god, it felt so good. It felt like such a relief. And for that, he _could_ muster disgust, the way he hadn't been able to for the relief he'd felt at the sight of his new quarters.

At first, Lelouch was frozen, his lips stiff but unresisting, and then Suzaku thought he had started to respond -- thought he could feel the tongue he was stroking come to reluctant life -- but abruptly he seemed to come back to himself, twisting his mouth away with a muffled protest. The chains rattled noisily as he strained against them, and Suzaku held very still, letting him squirm.

On some level, the struggle was actually sort of _exciting_: provoked a shivery, animal urge to pin his slender body more thoroughly, to reclaim his mouth and deepen the thing that wasn't a kiss.

And in spite of everything, in spite of himself, Suzaku almost couldn't resist. He was no virgin, had touched and been touched by others before, but even in the final white moment of perfect bliss he had never felt so fevered, so _electric_. His whole body was singing. He wanted this: he needed it. It felt like another geass, and even that horrifying thought wasn't enough to break the thrall.

What was wrong with him?

(would he have been like this with her, too) (no, it was Lelouch, Lelouch's fault)  
(Lelouch was doing this to him, bringing this out in him)

Whatever it was, the look on Lelouch's face -- his blown pupils, his pale cheeks stained a dramatic red, his flushed lips -- told him that he wasn't the only one who felt it. Lelouch opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to get enough air for more than a husky rendition of his name. "Su... Suzaku..."

But still _using_ his name. Suzaku shifted against him, eyebrows lifted in wordless curiosity (in wordless punishment), and felt it at his hip like a knife; ground forward and watched as Lelouch's expression contorted and listened as he moaned helplessly through his teeth.

However much he probably would have liked to be, the bastard wasn't superhuman. The press of flesh, the curl of tongue, they had affected him. And there was something thrilling about that, too -- something deeply, darkly satisfying.

Experimentally, he ducked his head to Lelouch's shoulder, nuzzling dark hair back to expose the side of his neck, and licked a bead of sweat from his flesh. He felt it when the pulse quickened beneath his lips, but it took him a few more seconds to notice the silence and longer still to understand what it meant: Lelouch had stopped struggling.

Suzaku hesitated, then took a step back. He was vaguely surprised to discover that his legs were actually shaking.

Could he really do this? Could he really go this far just to hurt him?  
(could he really convince himself it was only to hurt him)

Slowly, he brought one of his wrists up to his mouth and began to peel off the glove with his teeth.


	3. Phase 1, Third Degree

**.phase 1.  
Third Degree**

For her. It was all for her.

All for her.

(and if he kept repeating it) (over and over and over) (maybe he'd believe it)

The sound of his zipper split through the silence that had settled between them, and Suzaku was very aware of Lelouch's eyes as he dragged it down past his navel. Watching, waiting, and going strangely still as he shrugged out of the sweat-dampened fabric, as he bared his body. As he rolled the flightsuit down over his hips and strangled back a hiss because he was hard and even that much felt distractingly good.

(why was he this hard already) (he was such a disgusting person)

He took a steadying breath and then stepped out of his flightsuit, not too quickly. Giving Lelouch plenty of time to look, to absorb, to memorize the lines of his body and -- the curve of his erect dick, and focusing his attention on Lelouch in turn. With any luck, seeing him aroused would relax the other boy.

And he wanted him to be very, very relaxed.

After all, this wouldn't hurt half as much if he was still bracing himself for it.

(so disgusting)

Lelouch certainly seemed relaxed enough when he reached out, only shivering ever so slightly as one hand settled on his trim waist, and Suzaku closed his eyes, feeling his way to the angled point of a bony hip, the soft flesh of a smooth thigh. Keeping his touch light and teasing even as his fingers found the first short coarse hairs.

"Oh..." Less relaxed but also breathier; excited, and no longer trying quite so hard to hide it. "Suzaku--"

(still saying his name)

It made him smile, small and faint. He would fix that. But for now, he just dragged his fingers through Lelouch's curls to find his cock -- and when the other boy gasped, he had to bite his lips to stop himself from doing the same.

Clinically, Suzaku supposed he'd expected it to feel just like touching himself, but he knew he wasn't usually so aware of how _hot_ his own skin was and -- gods, he didn't think he'd ever been as hard as this. The sensitive skin must have been dark with pulsing blood. He opened his eyes to glance up at the other boy's face and was briefly rooted by his almost-tormented expression, by his lips bitten white and his eyelids trembling. It was almost sort of--

(no) (nothing) (it was _convenient_)

He chuckled, making himself genial as he murmured, "So sensitive. Look at you, and I've hardly done anything."

The words stung, of course -- they were supposed to. He let them, then soothed away the sudden tension in Lelouch's body with a quick heated kiss that shouldn't have worked as well as it did (as if he actually trusted this) (as if he _wanted_ to trust this) and then, ah, a much more calculated grind. They were skin to skin now, and the raw sensation left him reeling, but it also made Lelouch moan again, just as helpless as before, that dark manipulative baritone voice stretched as thin as the skin of his cock. If anything, it was only more satisfying the second time around, and for an instant Suzaku wanted nothing more than to do that again and again until Lelouch shuddered and came, right there, pressed up against the wall.

Unfortunately, there were other things he wanted, too -- and the wall wasn't the best place for all of them. So he took a few seconds to recover from the dizzy rush of blood, then pried Lelouch gently away from the wall without ever breaking the kiss. He divided his attention between navigating the unfamiliar room and the other boy's too-soft lips, flickering his tongue over the seam of them and then, as he found the doorknob of what should have been his bedroom with one hand, plunging past them.

And Lelouch just -- let him, so uncharacteristically yielding. It was like he'd forgotten where they were, who they were, even the heavy chains keeping his hands secured behind his back -- everything but his basest desires.

Something about that settled heavily in his stomach, so (sexy) (cloying) unsettling, but Suzaku pushed his own feelings aside because that weakness was exactly what he needed.

The frame of the bed met his calf and he stopped there for a moment, just kissing Lelouch, just sucking on his eager tongue. With one idle hand, he traced the line of Lelouch's prone arm to his broad but fragile shoulders, his too-prominent collar bones, the dip between them and the smooth slender muscle of his chest. He found a nipple and pinched it, subtly too hard, so that Lelouch was forced to break the kiss with a hiss.

"Nnnn..." Lelouch's lips parted wetly over perfect white teeth and he struggled to find his tongue again. "Haah, Suzaku--"

He rolled the nub of flesh between thumb and forefinger, more gently, and what might have been a protest melted, faded, drowned and died. Suzaku said lightly, "Go ahead and get on the bed. I'll see if I can't find something for lubricant."

Which made Lelouch flush, but in his eyes there was something more than embarrassment, a searching kind of hope that Suzaku couldn't (didn't want to) identify. Then it was gone and Lelouch was backing up a step, moving around him to climb up onto the truly enormous bed. The dark-haired boy kept his eyes on the bedspread and his voice low, but he still sounded much too intent when he offered, "There should be a sword and scabbard under the bed, and -- leather oil, to keep the scabbard in good condition."

It should have been horrifying, _sacrilegious_, but all Suzaku could think was how very appropriate it would be to fuck him with greasy, pungent oil. "Thank you for the suggestion," he said thickly, and knelt to check beneath the bed, trying not to notice the sudden throb of blood in his own cock or wonder when he had become such a monster.

(as if he didn't know)

He found the chest. It was probably beautiful and expensive, like everything else in this room, but he opened it without looking and dug through its contents brusquely. As soon as he found the vial of pale amber oil, he shoved the chest back under the bed, straightening to follow Lelouch onto the mattress--

--and pausing on the edge of it, just breathing.

The dark-haired boy was resting uneasily on his bound wrists, a quaver in his long naked legs. He'd had a minute to collect himself, but collected was the last thing he looked. Glossy violet eyes, deeply and darkly flushed, his nipples peaked and his cock already glistening at the tip.

Suzaku looked down at the bottle in his hands and focused on uncapping it, pouring the oil thickly over numb fingers and warming it between them. From what he'd heard, this part was every bit as important as making sure a woman was wet first; otherwise, the sex itself could be painful.

(and the sex wasn't what he wanted to be painful)

So he was careful, careful to wait when his touch on Lelouch's knee made the other boy stiffen for an instant before he let his legs fall apart, careful as he followed the swell of Lelouch's thigh to his very, very hard dick. He paused, glancing up at Lelouch's face, and watched his expression contort as he carefully, carefully skimmed just the shaft with a knuckle, avoiding the swollen red tip and the taut sensitive skin of his sack. Had _he_ ever been this hard before? Suzaku smiled crookedly, then dragged his lubed fingers down, down, down until...

There. He held his breath, tracing the puckered flesh lightly, and then rubbed over it with his thumb, oiling it. Trying not to think about how alien it felt. Cautious again, he pushed gingerly against the tight ring of muscle with just a fingertip, listening with half an ear to Lelouch's suddenly-reedy breathing, and was startled when he met very little resistance.

And oh gods, but it was _hot_ inside. As hot as Lelouch's desperate cock, as hot as any woman he'd ever been with.

Intensely, mind-erasingly hot.

Suzaku swallowed and nudged his fingertip deeper, past the first and then the second knuckle, somehow managing to remember to keep it just curved enough so that his nail wouldn't scratch the delicate tissue and trying not to choke at how incredibly, incredibly smooth the walls of muscle were.

(it was going to feel so good) (just as good) (maybe even better)

_Shit_. He drew his finger all the way out and then brought a second to join it. Again, they slipped in easily. Lelouch's body all but swallowed his blunt fingertips, hot and welcoming, and this time the visceral thrill of it made his eyes roll back. He couldn't help imagining the same soft smooth sweet pressure on his dick.

He had lost track of Lelouch's breathing, but when he finally listened for it again, it wasn't quite what he expected. Thick, but shallow. And the expression on the other boy's face was closer to discomfort than pleasure. He didn't seem to be in any actual pain, but he wasn't enjoying himself, either.

Suzaku froze. Had he done something wrong? Had he gone too fast, added his second finger too quickly? No. No, how could he have been so stupid. This was supposed to feel _good_ (he needed it to feel good), and he knew it should have, knew it stimulated a man's--

_Ah._ He gazed at Lelouch's face for a moment, and smiled. He really was an idiot, wasn't he.

Gently, Suzaku pulled both fingers back out. Then he turned his hand palm-up and pressed inside again, slow this time and searching. Roughly two inches in, he curled his fingers and felt it, or felt something: the previously-smooth surface had gone crinkly and there were tiny ridges. He stroked the pads of his fingertips over that spot, curious, and right away Lelouch flinched, cried out, and his labored breathing became something much more sultry. There; that was the spot. That was the gland that made this feel good.

He spread his fingers apart, briefly stretching the tight passage, and then he pushed, firm and smooth, over that same inch of tissue. He glanced up the length of Lelouch's body, over his thick dark cock, and watched his face contort with every calculated stroke. Watched him briefly try to clench his teeth against it and took especial satisfaction in making him whimper noisily through them. Watched his face go blood-red as he finally, reluctantly, maybe even helplessly lifted his hips to meet the tiny thrusts and fuck himself on Suzaku's invading fingers.

"Would you like something more?" Suzaku asked, his voice husky but still recognizable, and still almost as flat as he wanted it.

Lelouch turned his cheek into the pillow and said nothing, but could not seem to hold his eager hips still; they still answered every thrust of fingers. Suzaku allowed his humiliated silence for a moment, but then he smiled and withdrew them -- slowly, so that the other boy would have plenty of time to feel it as they left him empty.

He said, "Would you?"

Violet eyes cinched shut and Lelouch struggled futilely to regain some form of composure. Intellectually, he was one of the strongest people Suzaku had ever known, but physically, he was weak, unable to resist tired muscles or keep his breathing even, completely incapable of controlling any part of his body at all. And now, when it was aching with need, he was powerless to deny it. Sheer stubbornness kept his mouth shut, but after only a few seconds he was lifting his hips again in obvious, undeniable supplication.

_Please,_ he might as well have said. _Please fuck me. Do it now, do it hard, please._

It probably should have been pitiful. Pathetic. Sickening. To see _Zero_ reduced to this. At the very least, he should have felt something like -- pride, or triumph. But there was only the vaguest, most distant sense of ugly satisfaction, and... an even uglier hunger. He could feel his belly tightening, that unmistakable ache between his legs, the blood pounding like it hadn't quite before. Lelouch's obscene display was actually turning him on, and he _wanted_--

(no) (no no no) (it wasn't supposed to feel this way)  
(think of her) (think of what he did to her) (his finger on that trigger, his hateful horrible words)

(all of the things he did to deserve this)

Suzaku felt blindly for the knob of a knee, followed the swell of muscle to his hip and then traced the crease of his thigh, dug his fingers into coarse curls. Groped his way lower, and found the ready hole with one fingertip. Tried not to think about how slick and relaxed it was, or the way Lelouch went very still as he touched it. Tried not to hear the sound of them both panting.

(he wanted this so much)  
(no, _he_ didn't) (Lelouch did) (Lelouch did)

He didn't groan, didn't so much as gasp, when he touched himself to guide their bodies together. He didn't even tense as his tip slid (wetly) over Lelouch's (dry) skin. He concentrated on positioning himself against the puckered flesh, on pushing in, so light (so controlled). He felt nothing he shouldn't have.

(think of her, just her) (the dead weight of her body) (the light going out of her eyes)  
(don't think about how this feels) (how it's going to feel)

It was hot.

(her hand in his, still warm, still alive)

It was really, really hot.

(her head, lolling gently to the side)

And tight. Tight already. Tighter than he'd expected.

(her voice fading away) (her eyes slipping shut)  
(it felt good)

He was sweating, winded, breathless, and he wasn't even all the way inside yet.

(that terrible beeping sound)

Shit, now he was.

(why did it feel so good)

Suzaku rested his forehead on the other boy's heaving chest and shuddered with the incredible effort of holding still. He wanted to move, _needed_ to move, to snap his hips back and thrust in again, faster and harder -- but if he let himself, he knew he was going to

(it wasn't supposed to feel this good)

_come_, oh gods.

Distantly he was aware of a thin animal sound, and then Lelouch's knee, hiking up his leg to find purchase on his hip, to hold him in place with what little strength it had. "Su-- _Suzaku_--" Imploring him. Begging for this.

Just like his burning muscles were begging for it.

He took one last shivering steadying breath and found his legs again, found the strength to drag his hips back. Gritting his teeth because the friction from even just that was _intense_, Suzaku pulled almost all the way out -- and immediately drove back in, harder and faster than he'd meant to, wringing a cry from Lelouch's throat and very nearly making himself see stars.

_So good, so good, too good._

Out, and then in again. In and then out. Lelouch was so tight it felt like he was fucking a vice, a sweet soft hot stunningly-yielding vice, and with every stroke he was more aware of all the other places where their bodies were grinding together. His cheek rubbing against the other boy's chest, that heel brushing the back of his thigh, and Lelouch's ragged breaths licking the shell of his ear.

In, out, in, out, in out in out _in out_. Quick, shallow, thirsty. It wasn't like him, but Suzaku was losing himself, losing his mind, forgetting everything he knew about taking it slow, making it last. The chains went _chink chink_ and he just wondered why they weren't melting from the heat, the way he seemed to be--

--no. No, he couldn't let that happen. As foggy as he was, he still knew that much. He had to focus. Had to ground himself, had to remember what this was supposed to be.

Suzaku lifted his head and fixed his blurring eyes on the other boy's face, searching. Surely even in this moment, there must have been something, some smug cruelty, some cold trace of the man who had wounded her (wounded him) so deeply. Something he could cling to, could use to steady himself. But all he found were swollen lips and eyes so dark and hazy that the violet was just a narrow fevered rim around their pupils.

(if only he could keep Lelouch like this all the time, too intent on his own pleasure to hurt anyone ever again)

He wet his lips and reluctantly pulled out, shuddering, so that he could get his hands beneath Lelouch's thighs and pin them to his chest. Sightless eyes swiveled slowly to find his face, then went wide and rolled back when Suzaku shoved in again, sheathing himself, oh hell, _completely_ in the other boy's tight hot soft body and making him cry out.

"Ah, ah, _ahh_--"

In, out. Suzaku managed to get his breathing under control enough to ask mildly, "Does that feel better?"

He knew Lelouch heard the question because for half a second his jaw clenched, white with fury, but then the next thrust knocked it out of him and left his mouth slack. "--Ah, _ahh_, ah--" The tendons jutted out of his shoulders as his body arched -- no, _arced_, and he strained against his chains.

Out, _in_, out, _in_, yes yes yes. Every thrust so much deeper, every thrust punctuated now by another needy moan. He dug his fingers into the delicate flesh on the underside of Lelouch's knees, panting, and came so close to not noticing when the pitch of the other boy's noises began to keen.

"_Ah_," he gasped, "_ah, ah, ah_--" Short and sharp and newly-urgent. His lips glistening with the saliva he couldn't swallow.

Close. Very close. The new angle was obviously too much for his extremely limited stamina, Suzaku decided with vague affection (_revulsion_), and immediately arrested the motion of his own hips.

The reaction was practically instantaneous: "Su... Suzaku, oh gods..." Lelouch actually struggled against the grip on his thighs for a senseless moment. "Suzaku, _move_--"

It wasn't easy or comfortable to hold so still, buried two inches deep in the other boy's body, but Suzaku stayed where he was, slowly bringing his heartbeat back under control. "Is there something you want?" he asked coolly.

Lelouch stared up at him with glassy eyes, panting. Little beads of sweat were standing out on his forehead. The head of his cock was wet with precum, coated in it. So very, very close. Eventually, he managed to whisper, weak and thin, "_Please_."

As if he really thought it would be that easy. If he'd had the breath to spare, Suzaku might have laughed. Instead, he ducked his head to brush his lips low over Lelouch's jaw, the pale column of his throat, all the way down to his chest and one tight nipple. Then he opened his mouth and sweetly, ever so sweetly, curled his tongue around the nub of flesh.

He knew how it felt to be teased, what Lelouch would have to imagine when he was this hard, and sure enough the other boy moaned through his teeth, head tipping back. "Suzaku -- Suzaku, don't, ah--"

"I could just leave you like this," he suggested, jabbing the tiny indentation in Lelouch's nipple with his tongue. "You wouldn't even be able to touch yourself."

A hungry shudder twisted beneath milky skin. "You -- you bastard," Lelouch hissed mindlessly. "What do you... what do you _want_ from me..."

Suzaku knew he was smiling, but it didn't quite feel like a smile. "I think you know what I want," he said.

The other boy went very still. For an endless moment, his chest heaved silently. But then what little Suzaku could see of his expression shuttered. "--Please, my lord."

Somehow, it wasn't quite as satisfying as he'd thought it would be. Suzaku hitched his strange smile up another notch, and said, "There. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Whatever response Lelouch might have made to that was choked off by a moan as he rolled his hips out another inch and then _in_, in, _yes_. First just once, then again and again. Each one deep, each one powerful, and by the fifth Lelouch was stiffening again and crying out hoarsely, his body jerking as he thrust himself into the open air. For a few tense seconds, the orgasm tightened him up inside almost painfully, and Suzaku hardly felt the first warm burst against his belly, thick and sticky, as he grit his teeth to keep from going blind.

He really only meant to hold on until Lelouch was finished. He really only meant to wait until he could pull out and take care of his own need. Because he'd never thought sex was all that much better than masturbation, and because he wanted his former friend to see how little any of this had meant to him.

But then the moment came, and as Lelouch fell back onto the bed, breathless from that small exertion, all the tension drained out of him and the too-intense grip eased into the most amazingly soft sweet yielding (so very, very yielding) _thing_ Suzaku had ever felt. He couldn't help himself, couldn't resist just one shallow thrust, and then somehow he was pounding Lelouch's spent body into the mattress.

He -- he needed to stop -- needed to -- (but it felt so good) (so good to) keep moving

In, in, in. Faster, harder, deeper. His gnarled fingers on Lelouch's thighs were probably bruising them. _In, in, in._ Almost there, almost, almost, almost--

--_there_, that was it, just like that, _ah_, and the world went white with the force of it. Wave after wave of intense pleasure wracked his body and Suzaku shuddered, vaguely aware that he was coming (much, much) harder than he had ever come from (sex) (masturbation) -- anything before.

After several long seconds, he came back to himself enough to pull out, his softening cock slipping free with only the smallest jolt of numbed sensation, and then he just stayed there, resting his weight back on the heels of his palms and breathing.

Breathing.

(the room smelled like musk) (like sex)

So did he. Lelouch's seed was all over him, all over both of them. It coated his belly in pale streaks. Suzaku ran his fingers over the drying fluid and then wiped them off on his new quilt. Listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. Watching Lelouch's chest rise and fall with the deep even breathing of a sleeper.

"You said you'd serve the Japanese," he murmured to no one in particular, sliding carefully to the edge of his bed. "I hope you enjoy servicing one of them."

There was no reaction from the other boy; no stirring, no curling in on himself, nothing at all. Suzaku paused, gazing at him, and wasn't sure whether or not what he felt was disappointment. Then he forced himself to stand and turn away, heading for the open bathroom door.

The adjoining bathroom to his new chambers was probably rich and elegant. The counters were probably marble, the tub itself ivory; everything inlaid with gold or silver, everything in shades of deep blue. Because that was the color of the Knight of Seven.

Suzaku had always liked blue.

But he hardly saw the room. He wasn't interested in it. He was only interested in the glass shower stall set into one wall, and the soap that would hopefully be on a dish inside it.

He was very interested in the soap.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Suzaku tested its temperature. He stepped into the spray and closed his eyes and wondered what it would be like to be the man who belonged in his new quarters. What it would be like to be the Knight of Seven. He supposed he would need new clothing. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Lloyd again for some reason. Something...

Ah, right. He had to apologize. He'd been very -- rude, when he'd taken Lancelot. It felt like years ago, maybe even decades, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours.

Funny, the water wasn't quite hot enough. He needed hotter water.

And more soap.

He didn't have nearly enough soap.


End file.
